In Passing
by revolution rae
Summary: Time passes quickly, leaving us with faded reminders of the past. Often, seemingly insignificant moments last the longest in our memories. Sometimes, our thoughts are all we have left in the end. Drabbles and short oneshots.
1. Fly Like You

**Disclaimer: I don't own Harry Potter or any associated characters, places, etc. I just enjoy playing with the plot...**

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_Andromeda Black makes a Wish_

"Andy! Andy! Come watch me!" my little cousin cries out. I smile and join him, ruffling his black hair.

"Okay, kid. Go at it." I encourage. He grins and starts to run, then pauses and looks back at me, faltering and nervous.

"Andy...are you sure I can? They always say _he's_ better." he mumbles worriedly. I hide a frown of anger at my aunt and uncle behind a grin for the boy.

"Course I'm sure. You're a better flier than Sirius any day!" I say, whispering. Reg looks relieved and runs again, this time without stopping. He jumps onto his little broomstick and begins zooming around.

"Andromeda! Get in here!" comes a tired and irritated voice from the door.

"Yes, Mother." I mutter. "Sorry, Reg. I've gotta go, kid." I'm not sure if he hears me, looking blissful as he soars around. "Maybe someday I'll fly like you..."


	2. Destiny

_Draco Malfoy Reflects on Fate_

I read through the article quickly, merely skimming the sections Weasley is quoted in. Father sent me an owl about it yesterday; he knew he'd be in there and told me to read it, that maybe I'd get a few ideas about how to be acceptable in society.

Of course, the whole thing is rubbish. Hogwarts High Inquisitor? What a joke. And _him_, 'our children's best interests at heart,' yeah, right. His only interests are women and firewhiskey.

But that's the life of a cold-blooded Malfoy, always seeking to warm oneself up with passion and liquor. I hope to God I escape the same fate.

I know I won't.


	3. Sanity

_Frank Longbottom Remembers...and Forgets_

"According to Dumbledore, it takes more courage to stand up to your friends than your enemies. I suppose that makes sense. But at the same time, I wonder why he thinks the Golden Trio were my friends. We are now, of course. But back then (was it first year or second year, I can't remember) I hadn't any real friends. No one knew about you and Mum. Most still don't. I'm not ashamed. I just don't trust them." You look at the young man in front of you, wonder if he knows that in the back of your mind you can understand him. Though you can no longer answer him or even think up a reply. You think it may be your son. But you're not sure; he is a handsome young man, perhaps in his twenties. Neville was only a baby when _she_ came. Has it been that long?

Then he stops talking. _That day_ recurs in your mind with no words there to keep it at bay...You scream in pain.

When you next come to a bout of sanity, the young man is gone.

You forget him again.


	4. Decisions

_Narcissa Malfoy Decides_

"You must be strong, Cissy." He tells me.

"I know, I will be." I reply. He presses his wand to my left forearm and whispers the incantation. It is too much, the pain is so intense! I scream and scream and scream, howling for the whole world to hear. I am certain Lucius doesn't care; he finishes the deed relentlessly, but as soon as he is done, he throws his wand, falls to his knees.

"Forgive me, please forgive me, love..." he mumbles on and on, his eyes pouring tears. I realize in a flash that this has hurt him far more than me. I fall to my knees facing him and kiss the salt from his cheeks. This is the life I choose.

This is the man I love.


	5. I Am

_Petunia Evans Relaxes_

The fragile flowers wave gently. Petunias. My namesake. They are so beautiful. Did my mother hope for me to be beautiful? Did she get her wish? I think not. Vernon assures me I am the most beautiful woman in the world. Maybe I would believe him, if not for my sister.

I turn over onto my side, propping myself up on one elbow. The grass waves around me and I smell my bouquet again. Vernon opens one eye and smiles at me. I smile back, my sadness ebbing away. I am here. I am now. I am loved.


	6. Funeral

_Arthur Weasley Speaks at Sirius Black's Memorial_

Arthur cleared his throat as he took the podium. "I was devastated when I found out about Fabian and Gideon—Molly's brothers, my friends," he said. "However, I was never one to mope...or to take bad news well. It was Sirius who relayed the news to me, something that I took a long time to forgive him for.

" 'Arthur,' he'd said. I'd been in my shed with some eclectic plugs, tinkering, and so I just smiled, not really listening. Then the tactless git just blurted it out. 'Th-they found Fabian and Gideon's bodies.' he said in a rush.

"My mind numbed, and all I could think was, _Molly._ I turned angrily and I hexed him. Ginny still doesn't know where she got her talent for the Bat-Bogey hex, but Sirius could have told her then.

"But I digress...Sirius was a good man, over all. Tactless, had terrible timing, and was reckless. But good to the core. And I'll miss him."

Arthur cried for the remainder of Sirius's funeral.

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**A/N: Well, this one might come across as a bit OOC, since Arthur hexed someone AND cried. But I like this oneXD. Oh, and 'eclectic plugs' was done on purpose, since Arthur is always saying the wrong thing(:**

**I had wondered why JKR didn't mention a funeral for Sirius. I know they didn't have his body, but I figured they must at least have had a memorial service. So here's a snippet of that;}**


	7. The Powers That Be

_Bellatrix Examines her Feelings_

I feel passion for my master. Passion and sympathy for his cause. And of course, reverence. How could one _not_ worship him? He is such an incredible leader.

But I am not in love with him, not anymore. Once he was my only desire, but no longer. Something happened, I'm not sure what, but it made me fall in love with Rodolphus again. This love is nothing like the complicated, unrequited love I felt for the Dark Lord. This is the simple, understandable love that anyone can feel. Even one deemed a monster by the powers that be.


	8. Tenth Time's the Charm

_Ronald Weasley Finally Pops the Question_

We were sitting in the flat, and I was getting up my nerve. I wasn't a romantic person, so I figured that I was safest popping the question somewhere I was comfortable. Anyway, we'd just made up from an argument, so we were a bit tense, but fairly calm. I fingered the little box in my shirt pocket and made up my mind.

"Hermione?" I said nervously. _No! Too nervous!_ I thought to myself, panicking. I almost went the way I had the past nine times and counting: Making up a random question to cover my almost-proposal.

"Yes, Ron?" she asked, smiling. I felt faint. I knew I had to do it, though.

"Er...well..." Deciding on the spur of the moment to do it the right way, I stood up from the couch and knelt in front of her. She clapped a hand to her mouth.

"Hermione Granger, I love you. I have loved you from the time I was thirteen years old. I've made a million mistakes. But I love you, and I hope I'm worthy of you. Will you do me the honor of being my wife?" I reeled off. She looked at me, tears slipping down her cheeks. _Christ, did I sound that stupid?!?_

"Yes, Ron." she said then, and I relaxed as she repeated it. "Yes."


	9. Never Meant to Be

_Neville Longbottom Reassures Hannah Abbot_

Neville sits there dumbfounded. His girlfriend, Hannah, is in front of him, crying her eyes out. Apparently, when he'd announced that Hermione and Ron were finally engaged, it had been tactless.

"Hannah, I don't understand why you're crying." he finally says and she wails again.

"They're p-perfect for each other!" she says thickly, and Neville hardly understands her. "And it's not fair, they're perfect!" she repeats, and Neville hesitates.

"Hannah...are you scared that you and me, what we have isn't real?" he asks unhappily. He's tried a million times to make her understand what he feels. But she nods anyway. "But, why?"

"They were m-meant to be!"

Neville lets out a quiet laugh. "Hannah, I know that. But we weren't. We're not like them. Hermione and Ron, they were meant to be. Ginny and Harry were meant to be." Hannah looks at him incredulously through her tears, but he holds up a hand to stop the accusations he knows are coming. "But that doesn't matter. I'm not Ron or Harry, you're not Hermione or Ginny. We're Neville and Hannah. I didn't fall in love with you because we were best friends, you didn't fall in love with me at first sight and _I_ _don't care._ We happened, Hannah. We weren't meant to be, that's a fairytale for heroes. We just happened because that's what is. That's who we are and that's how everything should be, this is right and I know it's right and you know it's right and who cares if fate didn't bring us together, _we _brought us together, and you're the only one I could ever love." Hannah begins crying anew and Neville is at a loss, he just poured his heart out and she hasn't changed her mind. But then she speaks, albeit without clearness.

"I love you Neville. I love you so much and you're right." she says, and a smile breaks through the sobbing, and he remembers just _why_ they happened. It's like the sun coming out after rain only better and he knows that. And he loves her, and she loves him, and he's suddenly glad that he didn't have a fairytale ending. This is far more real and far better, and he smiles.

This is love.


	10. Protection

**Disclaimer: I have JKR locked up in my basement and she gave me the rights. (Well, I can dream, right?)**

**Okay, wanted to mention: I got this idea while reading Rakasha's work. The story was called "Butterbeer Caps," and it happens to be a collection of Luna Lovegood drabbles. So while I take credit for this little drabble, I don't take credit for the thought...dammit I don't own anything!!!**

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I see myself in her. She is teased mercilessly by the others of her age. She is in love with a boy who will never notice her, she grew up in an uncouth household. She has some friends, but no close companions.

And yet, she is completely different. My hair is black, my coloring pale. She is blonde and scraggly, her skin no paler than average. She is always meticulously clean, though many assume she doesn't take care of herself; Fidelius himself mentioned that of all his students, she's the strangest and possibly most unhealthy. Idiotic, shortsighted man.

Far more important than our different appearances, she is a young, kind, good witch. I am a broken-down man who is only on the side of "good" because it may someday lead to my death.

I pray to any existing deity that the young witch I give detention to at least twice a month, just to make sure she remains uninjured, does not die in the fight for peace.

I never, never had a professor who cared about my well-being. I give her my protection, though she doesn't know it, not because I want to change my own reputation, not because I see her as more than a student. I give her my protection because she is in need. I give her my protection because I see my own childhood in her.

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**A/N: Reviews?**


	11. Silent Knowledge

**Disclaimer: No, I won't send you any autographs. I'm still not JKR.**

**A/N: This is sort of a sequel to Protection, or a companion, in a way. It's Luna's thoughts on Snape. It's a bit longer than the others, but I like it. Hopefully you all will too. Now, on with the show!**

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"I think Professor Snape pities me." I announce one evening as I walk back from DA with Ginny and Neville. Sometimes I wish I had Ravenclaw friends (these Gryffindors are _quite _idealistic), but I love my friends (and yes, I really have friends, really really), and I wouldn't give them up. Even though Ginny and Neville are both looking at me like I'm insane.

"Luna, Snape's a bloody prat. He doesn't pity anyone." Ginny says, her eyes wide. Neville hangs on her every word. Silly boy, he ought to tell her he's in love with her. (Of course, it may just be that the nargles are getting to him and _that's _why he's staring like that.)

"Yes, but he gives me detentions a lot. And he always asks if the others are bothering me much. But never in an obvious way; he's a roundabout sort of person." I explain. It makes sense, but Ginny's a Gryffindor. She hates Snape on principle. (It must be a _very_ horrible way to live, when one is so prejudiced.)

"Er, have you mentioned this to Flitwick? Maybe he's, you know..." Neville says softly. (How kind that he tries to look out for me. It's an odd experience, having genuine friends like that.)

"Hm. No, I hadn't thought of that. But it isn't like that; I think he remembers his own life. He was teased rather badly, you know." I reply. (Maybe I shouldn't have said that...he probably doesn't even know that _I've_ realized he had a horrid school life, let alone others knowing.)

Ginny snorts. "Oh, Luna. He was teased because he was a git even then." Ginny responds. "Next time he asks you how you are, just tell me. He's a creep, if he's taking an interest in you like that, and I'll make him stop. I could hex him." (It's kind of hard, having friends. I didn't realize Ginny would react like this, she's so, so _impulsive_.)

I nod, but don't continue the subject. I don't think Ginny understands what it's like to live somewhere without anyone really paying attention. I love my father, and I know he adores me, but he's usually distracted by his projects. (Neville understands, I know; I can tell by how he's looking at me.)

I like that Professor Snape likes me, even though he won't admit it. It's a wonderful thing, to have him protect me from the others sometimes. I once told him about the others...He pretended to not listen, but he did. (He gave Padma Patil and Cho Chang a month's detentions when he found out, though he had an excuse.)

Professor Snape is a very brave man, to spy for Dumbledore. I wonder why he doesn't tell the other professors. Someday that will haunt him, surely. I shouldn't even know, but I do. I can tell by the way he interacts with Professor Dumbledore. He's strong.

I want to be like him.

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**A/N: I love reviews...**


	12. I Was Wrong

_Molly's Thoughts at Arthur's Funeral_

I've raised seven children, all of them good people. Every one of them is a former Gryffindor, which shouldn't matter, but does. I have my grandchildren, little devils, the lot of them, too. I've dealt with one of my sons predeceasing me. I've fought He-Who-Must-Not-Be-Named. I've killed a mad witch, along with other unnamed Death Eaters. I've lost friends and family to that cruel monster, Death. I always thought I was prepared for anything, but I was wrong. Nothing has prepared me for the sight of my lifeless husband being lowered into the ground.


	13. Bitter

_Harry Potter and Ginny Weasley Break Up_

The sun had just barely risen above England, and the sky was still shot with a brilliant pink. It was a beautiful morning and an incredible sight, but nature's genuine loveliness made no difference to one young couple in the year 2002. Harry Potter and Ginny Weasley were standing several feet apart. Harry looked unhappy, but Ginny looked furious.

"Ginny, don't do this!" Harry pleaded desperately, running a hand through his messy dark hair. "I'm not trying to hurt you!" Unfortunately for him, this only made Ginny angrier.

"You shut your bloody mouth," she told him, her voice low and deadly, a sure sign of danger. "Just shut your bloody mouth!" This time, she screamed it, shattering the early morning quiet of the hill they stood on.

"I just need some time." Harry tried, offering an apologetic face. Ginny exhaled loudly, stalked the short distance between them, and punched the young man in the face. Harry jerked back and pressed his fist to his left eye, where she'd gotten him.

"Do not say that!" she yelled at him. "_Don't you dare say that!_ We have been happy, but I should have known this was coming. Just get away from me, and don't try to tell me that you just need time!" Her brown eyes flashed threateningly. Harry winced.

"Gin, I need to be away from my past right now. I can't take being reminded of what I've done every day of my life. I'm sorry. I just, I'll..."

"You know what, Harry? I don't even care. I don't even care. Just go on to whoever you've set those famous eyes one now." Ginny said bitterly, her anger suddenly gone, perhaps because she'd physically attacked him. "But who is it? Cho? Verity? Some 16-year-old Italian girl smitten with The Chosen One?"

Harry sighed. "Ginny. I still love you. I will come back. You know that. But I can understand if you don't want to wait for me. I understand if I'm not enough for you."

Ginny looked at him for a long moment, an unreadable expression on her face. Finally, she sighed and turned away. "Good-bye, Harry."


	14. The Same Reason

_Pansy Parkinson Examines Her Thoughts_

I shut the door as quietly as possible, holding my breath, wincing as the hinges creak softly. To my relief, none of the other girls awaken. I lock the door securely (hopefully, no one will Alohomora it in a fit of anger) and breathe again gratefully. It's nearly three in the morning and I'm the only one awake in the castle as far as I know.

I walk slowly to the mirror in the little lavatory, loathe to see my face, yet morbidly curious. What marks has he left this time? And are they somewhere noticeable? Not that it would matter. Slytherins don't ask for help. Even when their best friends break them beyond repair. Even if I weren't a Slytherin, I'd still be a Parkinson. And Parkinsons hate help even more than the average Slytherin.

I close my eyes as I reach the mirror and grip the sink for support - just in case. Then, steeling myself, I open my eyes and stare straight into the looking glass, my jaw set.

It's okay. No bruises on my neck or face. I breathe out through pursed lips, reassured. No one will know. I am safe. Vincent is safe.

Now for the harder part. The scarier part. I pull my long-sleeved green shirt over my head, leaving me clad in a silvery tank top and long black pants. I used to wear nightgowns to bed. In fourth year, Vincent started getting angrier than he once was, and jealous. That was the year I started wearing less revealing clothes, for safety's sake.

Looking at myself, I am glad for the heavy Hogwarts uniform that hides me during the day. I can see his handprints on my upper arms, from when he shook me this morning. I can still feel the way my teeth rattled, the way my bones jarred, the way my neck snapped back. In the middle of my forearms there are more handprints. He grabbed me and squeezed, hard, when he found me skipping Herbology. I left him alone with Gregory and Daphne, he said, and that was mean. That was unfair of me. I deserved what I got.

There are other bruises running along my skin as well, ones I forgot about. I don't usually remember why he gives them to me, not for very long. Mottled patterns of purple, green, yellow, and red streak my arms. The colors swirl amongst each other, and I am detached enough from myself that I can see the artistic beauty of them. I spend a moment admiring the abstract pictures, but eventually I drag my gaze away from the discolorations and lift my shirt up halfway to examine the rest of my torso. Unsurprisingly, there is a large patch of black and blue in the middle of my stomach. He punched me, three times in a row. Fast, hard punches. I think I told him to go to hell yesterday. Yes, that's probably what happened. Sometimes he laughs at my sarcasm and venom; other times, he... doesn't.

I turn to look at my back. There is a burn mark on my spine and a long, thick, raised scar on the left side of the small of my back. The burn is from last week, in Charms, when I partnered with Daphne Greengrass, leaving him with Gregory. Draco, obviously, isn't at Hogwarts this year, which is a shame. He was the one who could almost control Vincent. The two usually would partner in our classes, and it would be me and Daphne. Gregory was often left with Edwin or even someone from a different House.

I tear my eyes away from the mirror and then force my feet to take me to the exit as I put on my shirt. But somehow I can't make myself go into the dormitory yet. Instead, I sink to the floor, my back against the door. I wrap my arms around my legs and rest my forehead on my knees. My thoughts turn quickly to Vincent, and I allow myself a few minutes to brood. Even though I hate how it feels, I know why he does this to me. It's for the same reason I used to spend the night with Draco, the same reason Daphne drowns herself in firewhiskey, the same reason Gregory stopped writing to his parents. The four of us, we're the only ones left in this place who can't hate the Carrows or, at the very least, get angry at the Gryffindors who arouse their wrath. We're the only ones who can't love each other or anyone else. We can't feel _anything_. We are the cold, numb, empty shells who walk the school looking for fire. We are the jaded liars who settle for cheap imitations of anger and joy, waiting for something to bring us to life.

Someone knocks on the door, startling me badly. My heart pounds fiercely for an instant as I get to my feet and open the door. Daphne is there, her hand raised to knock again. She lowers it and, without a word, we pass each other. The door clicks shut behind her and I stand still for a brief moment before returning to my bed. Maybe tonight I'll dream.


	15. Still Sisters

**Disclaimer: Not mine.**

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_Petunia Dursley Makes Her Peace_

"Hey, Lily," Petunia says softly, kneeling in front of the gravestone. "I know it's been a long time since I've visited." Her breath catches, and she smears a hand across her eyes. "Sorry. I wasn't going to cry." Then she laughs. "Apologizing to a gravestone. And I act like you were crazy." She lays a bouquet of roses down. "I thought about getting lilies for you... But you would have thought that was stupid, you always hated that we were named after flowers. I remember when you dumped Rob from down the street, when you were thirteen. Or fourteen, I don't remember. And it was just because he brought you lilies after you specifically told him you hated lilies. I thought you were being so picky, but I guess you had the right idea. You ended up married to someone passionate who loved you. Vernon... He loves me, of course. But he's just so... I always wanted someone who would show that, you know? God, I remember all the times we stayed up late, deciding who we'd marry and what our lives would be like and if we'd have kids and how we'd grow old and still embarrass them." She wipes her eyes again. "You know, I wish we'd been friends again before you..." She sobs once, then shakes her head resolutely. "I'm _not - going - to cry!_" But even as she speaks, she drops her face into her hands and begins to shake, crying quietly, broken.


	16. Christmas

**disclaimer: **i own nothing.

**characters: **percy && ron brotherfic

**a/n: **so... who watched HP7.2? I DID! MIDNIGHT PREMIERE BABY!

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"Percy," Ron asked, tugging nervously at the sleeves of his black robes, "can you help me?" The eleven-year-old boy's ears were scarlet, and he looked utterly mortified.

His older brother glanced at him briefly, then looked back at his parchment. "With what?" he inquired, his voice flat. "Or is this the beginning of some prank Fred and George put you up to?" He held a dripping quil over the parchment; his handwriting was cramped, but legible.

"No!" Ron protested hastily, waving his hands. "I just... I need help. And you're the only one who will get it. Fred and George would laugh and think I'm daft."

Percy set down his quill at last, seeming more convinced. He smiled almost eagerly. "Well, alright then. What is it, Ron?" He pushed his glasses up the bridge of his nose. His fingers were stained with black ink.

"Well... It's just... It's Christmas soon," Ron stumbled. "And I have, you know, friends. Harry, and Hermione, and the others in my dormitory. And I, I dunno what to get them. You know? Because they'll expect it, and they'll give me things. And I can't not give them something."

"Ohh," Percy exhaled, giving his brother a sympathetic look. "It's your first year of this. I forgot you'd need it explained to you." He looked very sad.

Ron nodded. "I have to give them something. And you always know what to do."

"I know you do," Percy sighed, ignoring the compliment. "We've all been doing the best we can for this since first year. Shocking as it may be, Fred and George wouldn't have laughed. They would have gotten it; they have the same problem every year."

"Oh," Ron said, and he looked much older than eleven. "I hate being poor. It's not fair."

"As do I," Percy agreed. "Unfortunately, there's nothing we can do yet. So how we handle Christmas is fairly simple. We give hand-made gifts. Or find nicer hand-me-downs, or ask Mum to make them sweaters. Fred and George often turn it into a joke."

Ron looked quite dejected. "I wish I could give them all something better."

"Yes, I know," Percy said. Then, a fire came into his eyes, and he picked up his quill, returning to his notes with a vengeance. "It will be better eventually," he said determinedly. "Someday I'l work at the Ministry and help us all."

"Yeah," Ron said quietly, rubbing his nose. He opened his mouth to say something else, then closed it again, realizing his brother was absorbed in his work to hear. After a silent moment, he turned and walked out of the library, alone.


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